


operation: foxy

by capn (deprimo)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Crushes, Gratuitous Swearing, Inarizaki Ensemble, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Rare Pairings, Unrequited Crush, group chats, inarizaki shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-02-22 12:53:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13167324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deprimo/pseuds/capn
Summary: “Well.” Atsumu clears his throat and takes a deep breath, pausing for effect. His eyes sparkle at Osamu’s dubious brow raise, and he adds, “Have you ever wondered who Kita-san’s crush is?”For a moment, Osamu is blank as his mind processes the question. And then it hits him—no, slams down on him, and—“No.”One question, three boys, and a whole lot of shenanigans.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey i’m back with my first multi-chapter fic! i have roughly 4 chapters planned for this, and hopefully i can finish this smoothly, especially since i’m posting this with school starting again in a week. enjoy! 

It happens one day during their morning practice break, when the Miya twins are seated on the wooden floor, legs crossed, and a particular someone is arguing with Osamu about a sandwich that the latter had reportedly eaten.

“Why’d you even eat something that isn’t yours!” Atsumu complains. “Stupid ‘Samu, that one was mine!”

Osamu gives him a flat look. “Don’t be an ass, you clearly ate yours before practice.”

“Mom packed two sandwiches just for me. S’not my fault you’re a _pig_.”

“She packed two sandwiches for the both of us. Stop tryin’ to look like a saint and get off me, _idiot_.”

Suna sits a few feet nearby. Most of the time he’ll just situate himself close where Gin is, towards the more sane of minds, and nowhere near the twins or trouble where he’ll easily get swept up in. Today’s drills were tough, though, so he’s plopped down on the floor, heedless of the fact that “trouble” is just sitting a mere reach away. Suna’s just gotten too lazy, too exhausted to ever move.

Osamu knows this, because Suna himself told them that.

He’s swiping through his phone, without a doubt scrolling through his Instagram feed again. Osamu’s aware he’s trying his best to tune out he and Atsumu’s bickering, if the faint sound of rock music from his earphones is anything to go by. He also knows that Suna hasn’t eaten yet, too, seeing as his Jagabee snack remains untouched, lying unguarded just beside him. Really, leave it to Suna to attend to his phone first thing during breaks, and ignore proper resting.

Not that he can speak.

Judging from the way his brother perks up beside him, though, Atsumu must have seen the snack.

Osamu rolls his eyes. It’s a no-brainer on what Atsumu’s going to do now, and he scoffs when Atsumu gets on his knees, inching bit by bit towards Suna. At this point, Osamu makes sure to keep a close eye on the latter. No doubt that Suna’s going to notice, and when he sees his eyes dart from the screen to Atsumu, sees thin brows furrowing when realization clicks, Osamu has to purse his lips to stifle a smirk.

_No way he's interfering now._

Atsumu’s hand is nearing its target. Before he can nick the snack, though, Suna pins it down with a thud, swift and precise.

“Don’t. Even. Try.”

 _Called it,_ Osamu snickers. He doesn’t pass up the opportunity to jibe.

“That’s what you get for being greedier than me,” he sing-songs. “Who’s the pig now, huh?”

Atsumu’s head whips towards him with a snarl. “Damn you, ‘Samu!”

In the background, Suna makes no move to intervene, content on scrolling through his phone once more as Atsumu flies past him. Osamu’s ready to dodge the oncoming attack when—

“Whoa, really? You have a girlfriend?!”

Osamu’s head snaps to the origin of the voice. He thinks the same happened to the other two when he hears Atsumu cry out and tumble to the ground, and Suna let out a tiny, surprised hum. The voice turns out to belong to Gin, whom Osamu finds is standing among the other members—Kosaku, Akagi, and a few others listening in. They’re all clustered around a sheepish Aran, save for Oomimi and Kita-san, who are talking among themselves. Osamu eyes Aran with a curious stare, watching as he wildly waves a hand around.

“No, no! I’ve no time for a girlfriend!” Aran objects, reaching an arm back to rub at his head. The audience oohs with interest, and Aran adds, “She’s nice, and I’m only courting her for now. S’not like I could do it frequently with so much practice, though.”

The audience laments at his reply.

“Aw, don’t mind, Aran!”

“There are more volleyballs in the crate, don’t worry!”

“What the hell do you even mean by that, Akagi?”

“Uhh...”

“Well, anyway, it must’ve felt nice to have someone watch your games!” Gin exclaims, equal parts reassuring and eager. Kosaku nods with identical enthusiasm.

“It’s the appeal of the ace,” Kosaku supplies. His expression becomes thoughtful. “The Ace Appeal…”

The group erupts in laughter, and they shove Kosaku around. “‘The Ace Appeal’ sounds pretty cool,” Atsumu remarks beside Osamu, fascinated. “D’ya think it applies to setters, too?”

Osamu rolls his eyes. “Shut up, ‘Tsumu,” he mutters. He finds himself still preoccupied with the hubbub, ignoring Atsumu’s indignation in favor of observing as Akagi guffaws and claps Kosaku on the back. He’s almost tempted to shout a follow-up, not until Akagi beats him to it.

It’s just a rather unexpected one, at that.

“Say, everyone. Any of you ever had a crush?” Akagi rakes his eyes over the group, grinning slyly. “How ‘bout you, Shinsuke?”

Kita-san, absorbed in a conversation with Oomimi, startles in his seat. His eyes flicker to Akagi. “Huh? Sorry, what is it?”

Akagi lets out a snicker. “You ever liked someone?”

Osamu falls silent. The entire team falls silent. Hell, the entire gym practically falls silent. All attention is on Kita-san now, the atmosphere heavy with expectation. Osamu gives a sidelong glance to his side, letting out a scoff at what he finds: Atsumu leaning forward, eyes wide in undivided attention. Meanwhile, Suna has his phone set down, eyes trained on the crowd.

 _Something caught the attention of the infatuated puppy and the gossip_ , he thinks dryly.

Among the crowd, Kita-san stares at his spectators. His brows are furrowed together, bewilderment clear on his face, as if the thought of having feelings is so mind-boggling, the very idea of having a crush crashes his brain.

“Liked… someone?” Kita-san echoes. His mouth forms a tiny ‘O’. Even from a considerable distance, Osamu can perfectly make out the faint flush creeping on his cheeks.

_Oh. I’m wrong then._

Osamu hears Atsumu whimper, can sense him wilt from the reaction, as Kita-san points his gaze downwards.

“Ah… eh… no.”

There’s a pause as the whole team processes Kita-san’s words.

And then an uproar rises from the group.

Kita-san almost gets tackled to the ground by a speeding, white blur.

“You clearly do!” Akagi hollers, and there’s ruckus as Aran holds back the libreo, who’s shouting and shaking Kita-san by the shoulders. Gin’s also started to hold back other enthusiastic first years, but he’s screaming, and Kosaku’s also screaming, and now it’s only Oomimi who’s peacefully taking a sip from his water bottle who’s staying calm as of the moment. “Who is it?! Who’s the lucky person?!”

It’s amazing how one revelation can disrupt a moment’s peace, really.

Amidst the commotion, Kita-san blushes redder, but he keeps his mouth sealed. Once Aran’s successfully plucked Akagi off of him, Kita-san stands and claps his hands, calling for the end of break. Suna groans. Osamu also groans. The group all lets out a collective groan.

Meanwhile, next to Osamu, a certain lovesick setter has expired on the floor. 

Suna turns to Osamu. “So. Kita-san has a crush,” he states. His tone is suspiciously nonchalant, prompting Osamu to raise an eyebrow.

He still nods anyway. “He does.”

“How are you so calm about this.”

“Well, I’m actually not,” Osamu replies. “But I’m also not ‘Tsumu, so I guess I can react without needing to freak.” He glances at Atsumu. “Or faint.”

Suna shrugs. “Fair enough. I wonder who could Kita-san’s crush be.”

“Dunno, but ‘Tsumu here practically fainted ‘cus of that.”

At the mention of his name, Atsumu snaps up from the ground.

“That’s impossible, Kita-san!” he cries, sinking back to the floor with a despairing moan—and wait a second, _did he just say Kita-san_. Eyes widening, Osamu and Suna both stand and straighten when the captain stops in front of them, brows knitted in what Osamu can discern as confusion.

Or annoyance. He can’t tell which is which with Kita-san, but _shit_.

The blankness in Kita-san’s eyes is evident as he asks, “What’s impossible?”

“It’s nothing, Cap’n,” replies Osamu quickly, dutifully. As discreetly as he can manage, Osamu kicks Atsumu’s ass with the tip of his shoes, silently screaming at him to _just get up, damn it._ The action doesn’t escape Kita-san’s notice, though. His brows only rise higher, and Osamu knows—he just _knows_ —that he must be probably wondering what the hell is going on with Atsumu.

Again.

Suna, he stays unhelpful and silent, _damn him._ He appears as though he’s trying to evade Kita-san, from the way he’s leaning towards Osamu. Meanwhile, Atsumu continues to mope on the ground. Obviously, it doesn’t count as nothing to Kita-san. Osamu can sense the latter’s doubt rising, to which he hastily follows a quick reassurance for Kita-san’s sake. “We’ll take care of Atsumu here, don’t worry.”

But Osamu must have hesitated for too long.

Unconvinced by his statement, Kita-san stays rooted to the floor, making no move to walk away. His gaze flickers to Atsumu, appraising, and Osamu and Suna wait.

And they wait.

(And they wait.)

It almost feels like an eternity when Kita-san finally nods (“All right, just make sure to get our setter back to practice.”), and Suna and Osamu both exhale a sigh of relief when he finally leaves. Osamu turns to glare at the lump that is Atsumu’s body. Making sure Kita-san’s out of the vicinity, he kicks another hard jab on his shoulder. The lump shifts in its position, groaning.

Osamu clucks his tongue. He feels almost sorry for Atsumu; his brother’s always had his eyes set on Kita-san for a while now, and discovering his crush likes someone else must have been a huge blow to him.

But then Osamu remembers what he had to endure with Atsumu’s pining, and he feels no ounce of pity.

He doesn’t voice his thoughts, though, instead informing Suna, “He’s hopeless. Literally hopeless.”

Suna shrugs. Sighing, Osamu seizes one of his brother’s ankles.

“He…” Atsumu says.

Osamu cocks a brow. “He what?”

“He called me _his_ setter…”

“He said ‘ _our_ setter’, though,” Suna points out.

“Which _means_ ,” Osamu interrupts before Atsumu can, starting to drag the latter across the wooden planks, face first. “You’re gonna suck it up, go back to practice, and set for us. Don’t you dare make crappy set-ups just ‘cus you’re heartbroken, ‘Tsumu.”

“Mhrmf! Hehno awon’!” _Hell no, I won’t!_

“Right. So let’s go back to practice, you big baby.”

Suna strolls beside him, hands tucked into his volleyball shorts. “Little Atchumu got his poor heart broken,” he says. It’s barely there, but Osamu can recognize the amusement in his eyes, and underneath his tone, all the same. He huffs a small laugh, feeling the tiniest of smiles quirking on his lips. Beneath them, Atsumu grumbles.

Osamu and Suna raise their first to their mouth, snickering.

  

* * *

  

The following afternoon, Atsumu comes bounding up to Osamu, jostling his shoulder and wearing that particular glint in his eye. Osamu highly suspects that his twin brother is up to something. “Hey, hey, ‘Samu, I just had the brightest _and_ most brilliant idea.”

His statement is returned with a wary look. “If it involves something that’ll get me into trouble, then count me out.” He turns his back to Atsumu and starts walking towards the crate where volleyballs are kept, arms full of the ball. Osamu now fully intends on avoiding him to evade whatever he’s about to make, but to his dismay, he hears the telltale sign of trainers catching up to him.

“It won’t, I swear!” Atsumu’s voice assures, the owner appearing not long after beside him. “It’s just an innocent thing—”

“And if it’s just that innocent, then surely you can do it yourself.”

“But _‘Samuuu._ ”

“But ‘Tsumuuu,” Osamu mocks. “It’s just an innocent thing, and you’re a fully functional idiot capable of doing even menial and _innocent_ tasks, so stop.”

“You know I won’t stop bothering you ‘til you—hey, what did you just say?”

Atsumu almost resembles a wild animal with the way he growled and pounced on Osamu, and the latter grunts under the additional weight. Fortunately, he manages to right himself into a stable position, managing a steady grip on the balls. To his annoyance, Atsumu starts ruffling on his hair. “Also, I’m not _menial_ , asshole, big words for someone who’s in _oomf_ —”

Osamu pushes Atsumu off his shoulder, throwing him a dirty look. He starts dumping the balls into the crate one by one. “Whaddya want?” Turning to him, Osamu crosses his arms, wearing an expression that makes sure shows his irritation with Atsumu.

Being the infuriating slug he is, though, Atsumu stares right back, all wide and intense eyes, as if he’s silently challenging him. A few moments pass. The thumping of balls and the chatter of voices echo around the gymnasium. Atsumu still refuses to break contact.

_Oh my god_ , Osamu thinks, yielding to the unblinking stare. A n impatient sigh slips past his lips as he says, “Spill already. What the heck do you want?”

“Well.” Atsumu clears his throat and takes a deep breath, pausing for effect. His eyes sparkle at Osamu’s dubious brow raise, and he adds, “Have you ever wondered who Kita-san’s crush is?”

For a moment, Osamu is blank as his mind processes the question. And then it hits him—no, slams down on him, and—

“ _No._ ” 

His statement is an outright denial of Atsumu’s question, and altogether, an outright dismissal of his plan. Osamu just isn’t having it today. His brother seems to latch onto what he is trying to convey, and so he whines.

“But _why?_ ”

Osamu thinks back to many, many yesterdays, when every day—

_Every single day_ , Osamu has to bear the brunt of Atsumu’s relentless pining after their so-called “ice prince” captain. Every single morning, he’ll endure a cheery, “Good morning to the beautiful Kita-san I’ll see soon!” from his twin. Every night, it’ll be something similar. The days in-between those, otherwise then, are filled with excessive statements ranging from compliments (“Kita-san looks good today, doesn’t he, ‘Samu?!”) to stupid declarations (“Damn, Kita-san can be scary sometimes, but I still like him!”), and Osamu. Is. Just. So. Done.

Atsumu’s pining is a cycle going on for two months now, and any more than that? Osamu will readily hurl a volleyball flying over 100mph at his head.

And maybe actually _hurl_ right after.

(Once, he’d told Osamu, “Man, I’d like to tap that ass,” in referring to Kita-san, and he’d been hit with a volleyball to the face. Osamu refused to speak to him after that.)

He thinks of all these, but out loud, Osamu says, “This is about what happened earlier, isn’t it?”

When he sees Atsumu stiffen, Osamu sours even further. “I knew it. You do know that Kita-san likes someone else, right?”

"Well, _yeah_ , but it won’t hurt to try find out, right?”

“Your obsession with Kita-san’s gettin’ disturbing.”

Osamu gets an indignant noise of protest as a reply.

It’s funny how Atsumu exudes that unwavering certainty when it comes to Kita-san, yet at the same time, get intimidated to almost submission. Frankly speaking, almost all of the team are wary of Kita-san, of his point-blank honesty and cold logic. But his brother’s a special case: the fact that Atsumu likes Kita-san despite that is downright… mind-boggling. Insane. And it’s sometimes due to that knowledge that Osamu wonders if his brother is a masochist—he just can’t see Kita-san the same way Atsumu views him, since just hearing his name already elicits caution.

But maybe that’s just him, and maybe Atsumu’s just being...  _him_.

Speaking of the masochist, Osamu barely suppresses an annoyed groan when Atsumu claps his hands together. He doesn’t hesitate in allowing the prior groan out when Atsumu flashes him _those_ puppy eyes.

“Come on, 'Samu, just this once? _Pleeease?_ ”

Osamu sighs. It’s never always “this once,” like Atsumu always tells him. In fact, Osamu’s pretty damn sure he can list down the things he’s been told that, almost passing twice the numbers on his hands and feet. He’s almost tempted to just straight up turn a deaf ear on Atsumu, maybe give him a good kick, but he’s not _that_  violent, and most especially not _that_ dumb to let Atsumu yammer at him every waking second.

So he relents, only if he can get his brother to shut up.

“Jeez, you damn scrub. Fine. Let’s hear this stupid plan out.”

And said scrub perks up from his stance, lunging at Osamu with a cry, with a fist raised in victory. To protect his ears from hearing damage, though, Osamu whacks his palm square on Atsumu’s face.

Osamu doesn’t even try hard to conceal his smirk when Atsumu lets go of him with a squawk. He starts to walk away, Atsumu’s shouts carrying in the air after him.

“I know you just can’t resist my face, you damn tsundere!” 

 

* * *

 

Osamu is proud to say that he’s not a troublesome person, unlike his twin (and unless it comes to Aran; the ace often finds himself exasperated with the two, even when Osamu’s just being _true_ to himself, but that’s way beyond his control, so Osamu lets him be). Sure, he might enjoy a good banter or squabble with the team, and maybe he’ll fancy doing a prank or two on Atsumu every once in a while, but when it comes to Kita-san…

No. Just… no.

Most of the time, Osamu avoids trouble as much as he can when he’s in their radar. _If_ he can. When it comes to Atsumu, he finds it almost impossible to escape whenever his brother’s dragging him into another of his schemes. For example, like how Osamu’s been completely roped into Atsumu’s totally “innocent” plan.

Osamu scoffs.  _Innocent, my ass_.

It’s not that he isn’t willing to do it—Osamu just had to comply, lest he wants Atsumu to steal his food. Aside from the fact that he does actually snitch stuff from Osamu, and as petty as he sounds when he blackmails him, Atsumu _does_ actually make good on his threats. And being threatened with taking his own stash of chips?

His _favorite_ chips? 

Osamu will declare war even against his own blood.

So he understands that he simply just gets pulled into whatever Atsumu brews up. He totally does.

What he doesn’t get, however, is how Suna is in their room, synchronizing—or attempting to, really—with the Just Dance on their television screen. Osamu blinks, does a little recap: he’s just arrived at home a little later than the two after practice, having wanted to practice more on his serve. Atsumu, his volleyball-for-brains brother who’s almost always the last one to leave, had gone off earlier than him. It struck Osamu as unusual, but he had only shrugged it off. He didn’t notice Suna leaving as well, having escaped his notice that Suna accompanied his brother.

He did notice them huddling and whispering together, though. They were standing really close, smiling creepily as if they’re sharing some juicy secret. Then he remembered pulling three, strong, consecutive service aces after that.

And now, he arrives at this… this whatever’s happening here. Suna doesn’t usually stay over at their house unless he’s going to complete homework, and it’s Osamu whom he accompanies most of the time.

With Atsumu, though, it can only mean one thing.

Osamu resists heaving an enormous sigh.

He just got back from practice. He’s tired. And Osamu thinks Suna looks almost cool, with his narrow eyes squinting even narrower as he determinedly copies the moves on the screen, but seeing the man’s gangly limbs flail around, he’s not even sure anymore. Besides, how did Atsumu even manage to convince  _Suna_ , out of all people?

Osamu continues to stand by the doorframe until the pop number slows down to a close. Suna seems to have caught him in his peripherals, and he perks up.

“Yo, Osamu.” He raises a hand in greeting. He proceeds to plop down on Osamu’s bed, putting out his phone, then grumbling as he takes a picture of the TV screen.  For what, Osamu has no idea.

“Hey…” he greets back, nonplussed. He turns to find Atsumu sitting by his own bed, posture straightened and expression arranged in a way he expected Osamu’s confused (and accusing) looks to happen.

Bright and pleasant yet knowing, and unaffected.

“‘Tsumu…”

The question hangs heavily in the air. _What the actual fuck?_  

Flourishing his arm, Atsumu stands up. “Let me explain to you, my dear, idiot brother!” he bellows, a cheeky grin etched on his face. Osamu hears a snort coming from Suna, a cough following after, presumably to cover it up. Osamu lets Suna have his mercy by directing the most murderous glare towards Atsumu, who opens his mouth to spew out even more bullshit—

Until a cool voice cuts in.

“I wanted to find out Kita-san’s weakness.” 

Osamu starts. “ _What?_ ”

Atsumu scowls from his position. “I wanted to be the one explaining it to him, damn you!”

Osamu swivels to Suna, waiting for him to elaborate. He’s pretty sure he’s making quite the face right now, seeing as his features are scrunched in a combination of exasperated and confused. He’s even further troubled on how Suna’s statement about Kita-san’s weakness is related to their plan.

_Not that we had any plans in the first place, anyway, but…_ “Why?”

Suna glances at Osamu before darting back to his phone, shifting under his gaze. “Think about it, knowing his crush means knowing his weakness, right?” His attention remains glued to the gadget, fingers rapidly typing on the screen. “And if we can discover his weakness, then we can sabotage that particular weakness…”

Osamu blinks, and o pens his mouth.

“Have you…”

Suna stares back and tilts his head, inquiring.

“…lost your damn mind?”

There’s a significant pause as Suna stares blankly at Osamu, then Atsumu’s laughter rings from his left, loud and rambunctious. Suna lifts a shoulder in a shrug, and in that exact moment, Osamu is reminded of how daring and  _idiotic_ the two can get. Atsumu, he can understand; he’s lived with him ever since they were literally zygotes, and he’s willing to accept the probability that his brother’s hit his head countless times, resulting in his stupidity.

Suna, however? Unthinkable.

“We’ll be doing actual participation. Why not make it worthwhile?” Suna waves his phone around, and Osamu follows the motion. 

_ Ah. _

He gets it.

_ Blackmail material. _

Really, he gets it.

Osamu represses the urge to facepalm. _I friggin’ don’t! What the hell! And s_ _peaking of blackmail material..._

A picture flashes in his mind: of him kicking Atsumu in the back, face contorted in a way that’s uncharacteristic of him. Osamu remembers finding it on Suna’s phone, recalling perfectly on how he grappled Suna in a headlock afterwards. Anyhow, Osamu  _absolutely_ cannot fathom how the two still not have a fear of Kita-san, and belatedly, he realizes he must have deranged friends. Both Atsumu and Suna themselves freeze up whenever they become the subject of Kita-san’s reprimand, or even anything close to it, but it’s _them_ both who want to collect whatever piece of information they can get on the captain.

“You’re all crazy.”

Osamu enters the threshold, dumps his bag beside his bed, and pulls Suna off the sheets. Suna lets himself be dragged without any complaints, instead continues to tap at his phone like getting manhandled to the floor is the most typical occurrence in his life. He thinks he hears a, “Not me, that’s Atsumu…” coming from Suna, and he disregards the comment.

(Privately, he agrees.)

“Can’t we just ask him instead?” asks Osamu as he settles down the sheets, trying to inject a little bit of rationality onto the pair. He knows it’s useless, but it won’t hurt to try.

Atsumu, not to his surprise, lets out a noise of protest. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Just try to imagine it,” Suna pipes up below him. “Imagine what we could do with the fact that Kita-san likes another person.”

Atsumu harrumphs, leaning over to grab a stray volleyball. “I’ll probably beat him up,” he murmurs, clenching the ball in his hands.

“‘Tsumu, you’re stupid. What if the person’s a girl, then? ” Osamu points out.

“Well, I dunno, I’d steal Kita-san from her, too!”

“That’s stupid,” Suna says.  


Ignoring Atsumu’s squawk of protest, Osamu casts a skeptic look towards Suna, who, in turn, gives him a significant stare.

Suna’s definitely not unlike that evil guy in the movies whose life goal is to overthrow the protagonist. Suna’s slit-thin eyes possess that knowing gleam—the gleam Osamu knows when he performs an accurate kill block, or when he’s up to something. And right now, he _is_ up to something. And “sabotaging” Kita-san’s weakness… it’s guaranteed to have them end up with a week-long, twenty extra laps.

But that is, if they can find one. It definitely sounds appealing and Osamu’ll be up to their shenanigans, but  _only_ if it’s on another person.

And _only_ if there isn’t the risk of Kita-san hunting them down for their blood.  

Which he’s aware will happen if the plan goes awry.

_Which it will._

His phone lights up with a message from Suna. _We can also tease and torture your brother if we do find out._

Osamu pauses in his mental tracks. _Damn_.

“You’re evil,” he tells him upon seeing the message. Suna shoots him a finger gun. “And terrifying. And the worst.”

In response, a smirk makes its way to Suna’s mouth, smug. “And you’re clearly considering.”

Osamu narrows his eyes at him, mouth twisting into a sneer. A tiny smile etches itself on Suna’s face, brow quirked in expectation. His face is basically screaming at Osamu: _Well? What are you waiting for?_

There’s a beat coming from Osamu. After a moment, he sighs, giving in. “Fine,” he grumbles. “Only if I get paid in food.”

A retching sound comes from Atsumu’s direction. “Eugh, I’m gagging. Stop flirtin’ in front of me!”

Osamu deftly dodges a ball aiming for him, to which in turn he chucks back at Atsumu. His brother gets hit in the face, and he goes down with a cry.

“Shut it, squirt. I’m finally considering.”

 

* * *

 

sunaringo added samu11 and settertsumu07 to the group.

4:37 PM

**sunaringo:** let the operation begin

  

Osamu gives the words on the screen a sour look. Lifting his gaze from the phone, he shifts his attention to _that particular crappy guy_  in the room—to Suna, who’s now sporting a shit-eating grin on his face. He lets out a weary sigh and types in his reply, resulting in Atsumu’s laughter.

 

**samu11:** i hate you guys

**sunaringo:** no you don’t

**settertsumu07:** no you don’t

**settertsumu07:** (´꒳`∗)

 **samu11:** smug bastard

 **samu11:** idk why i agreed to this in the first place  

**settertsumu07:** well now clearly you did

**sunaringo:** you just can’t resist us

**settertsumu07:**  lmao no way he’s just in for the food

**samu11:** sigh

**samu11:** might as well go in for the ride

 

Suna lets out a deep chuckle from where he’s sitting, fingers simultaneously tapping on the screen.

  

**sunaringo:** that’s the spirit

**settertsumu07:**  i know right

**settertsumu07:** operation: find out kita-san’s crush

**settertsumu07:** is now commencing! (o≧∇≦)o

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **edited 03-06-18.** if you enjoyed, lemme know through a kudos or a comment! thank you so much for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atsumu bribes, Suna becomes suggestive, and Osamu gets lured even further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i may or may not have underestimated the number of chapters a lil bit. sorry for the long wait, here’s chapter two! enjoy ^^

Later that evening when Suna had gone home, the trio meet over a video call. Osamu is slouched over his desk, one arm resting on the wood as his hand toys with an opened packet of Calbee chips. Beside him, Atsumu perches on the edge of his own seat. His cheeks are full, and he’s cupping a handful of the snack. In front of them is a laptop, and on the screen is Suna. Judging from the unruly blue and white sheets surrounding him, he seems to be lying down on his own bed. The light from the screen illuminates his sleek face.

_And so the hunt for Kita-san’s crush now begins_ , Osamu thinks idly, cheek smushed against the table.  _Or so it is_. As of now, Atsumu had successfully baited Suna into bickering on whether Sato-sensei is a great literature teacher or not, which Osamu serves as background noise while he surrounds himself in his own thoughts. Supposedly, tonight is their initial meeting for the operation. And really, Osamu gets that planning is tedious and all, yadda-yadda, but it’s Kita-san they’re talking about. 

Kita-san is _tough_.

Osamu’s at least expecting a guideline of what they’re going to do. Extra measures to get them away scot-free. There’s no way in hell he’ll be the one to come up with a plan, since those two were the primary initiators of this whole thing. If they try to pass the responsibility to him, he’ll deck them upside down before that happens. But like the idiot Osamu sometimes is, though, he has made the mistake of expecting them to dive into planning straight away.

They have not planned straight away.

Both Atsumu and Suna are currently going at it; Atsumu continuously fires off barb after barb, and Suna coolly deflects them, though only with the slightest vehemence in his tone. From his seat, Osamu raises his head from the desk and groans. “Oi, you dipshits. Aren’t we supposed to plan?”

The bickering stops.

“Oh yeah,” says Suna.

“You’re right,” adds Atsumu.

Exasperated, Osamu shuts his eyes and plops his head back down. He regrets ever having that expectation.

Atsumu merely shrugs from his right. “I can tell you how I came up with the name, though,” he says in-between mouthfuls of potato chips. “D’ya guys wanna know how I came up with the name?”

“No,” Suna and Osamu both chorus. Osamu is aware he can’t see his brother at the moment, but the affronted noise Atsumu made almost draws a snicker out of him. He can imagine behind closed lids the scrunch of his twin’s face, both out of indignation and offense—a sight he’s used to, considering on how often he shuts down his own kin.

“Hey, I searched the dictionary for this, y’know! Learn how to appreciate my amazing effort.”

“It’s pretty obvious, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu drawls. “You want to find out Kita-san’s crush. End of story. Period.”

“It’s not just that! It’s in  _English_ , be impressed!”

“Wow, impressive,” deadpans Suna. A snort rises from Osamu as he grabs another handful of the snack.

Atsumu glares at the pair—with the best he can, anyway. His cheeks filled to the brim like a hamster ruins the desired effect. Apart from that, with Suna being on the other side of the screen, it’ll take some work for him to glare at them together in one place. Osamu remains unaffected at the show of irritation, though, choosing instead to munch on his food. He’s used to all kinds of ‘Tsumu’s temper to not get bothered by it anymore, anyway—it won’t be the end for him if his twin brother throws one of his many fit of piques.

“Take this seriously, you two! There’s a prize when you find out Kita-san’s crush!”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?” Osamu turns a disinterested eye to his brother, tossing another chip into his mouth. At his indifference, Atsumu’s eyes narrow, and a knowing smile emerges on his face. Determination radiates off of him in waves, and his eyes are meaningful as he utters his next words.

“Like yakiniku.”

Thick brows raise higher, and Osamu lifts his head once more, propping his chin on the table.

“Oh?”

Having caught his attention, Atsumu’s smirk grows wider, and Osamu mulls over his offer. Yakiniku definitely sounds appealing. He can feel the makings of what might be his appetite—he feels it beckoning to him… tempting him...

But no.

Osamu’s had that twice last week.

‘Sides, he has to be wise and choose his prize carefully. Atsumu’ll have to upgrade his prize more.

“Anything better?”

“Yogurt,” Atsumu readily replies.

The offer is impressively quick, but Osamu’s nose wrinkles. “You just downgraded it. Don’t you have anything that’s worth my ‘amazing effort’?”

“Ugh, you’re so needy, y’know that?” _Says the one who steals my food._  “Fine, then. Pudding, the deluxe kind!”

Osamu mulls over the offer. “Ehh. Nah. I want something more fulfilling. Plus, Suna’s treating me to dessert next week.”

A cry of betrayal rises from Atsumu, and he spins towards the laptop where Suna’s currently watching the exchange. “The heck, man?” Atsumu exclaims. “When did you guys even have that kinda agreement?”

Suna lifts his shoulder in a shrug. “Turns out,  _I’m_  part of the payment for him participating,” he says, and leaves it at that. Taken aback, Oamu sends him a disconcerted smile. Something settles in Osamu’s stomach at the statement, and Suna, sensing the lull, adds after awhile: “Well, me treating him, that is.”

Suna’s indifferent expression doesn’t change even the slightest bit. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking when his facial cues don’t give away anything, but jeez, it’ll really help if he clarifies his words, _maybe_.

It all happens in a split second—Osamu doesn’t realize he’s staring until he and Suna make eye contact, and when Suna raises his brows in acknowledgement, the swooping sensation in Osamu’s stomach strengthens. In haste, he briskly shifts his attention to Atsumu, and tries to set the feeling aside.

_ What the hell was that._

Atsumu makes a face, and he flaps a hand towards the laptop. “Don’t word it so weirdly! It’s like you’re being sold off, or something.” 

“How will I word it, then?”

“Like a normal person. Anyway!” Atsumu swivels around, facing Osamu once more. “I’ll treat you to katsudon during lunch the whole week if you manage to find out his crush!”

That immediately earns a dubious stare from Osamu, and he receives a vigorous nod in response. He doesn’t need any words to know what Atsumu means, since it’s almost as if he’s bribing him, leering at him,  _think about it! I know you haven’t tasted much yet, so it’s a good opportunity. Insert weird, evil laughter here._

Which he isn’t wrong about, to be honest.

Osamu allows himself to ponder over his suggestion. Katsudon, huh. It’s something that somehow boosted into popularity when it got first sold just down the street nearby school. From passing through hallways and his classroom, he’s heard stories that the owner got so bigheaded by its popularity, he raised the price of meal. (Though that’s not the case—pork had just gotten more expensive, and Osamu can confirm this; he’s often told to do the groceries, and had seen firsthand the horrors of the price hike when it came to one of his favorite food.)

Osamu can barely get a glimpse of it, too, seeing as it’s always sold out when he finally gets to it. If that isn’t the case, then it would be because he’s out of the campus later than usual. Aside from the price, it doesn’t help that it’s always sold in limited stocks. It doesn’t also help that his mind has to conjure up a picture of the steaming meal: Osamu can see the golden crisp of the breaded pork mixed with egg, can see the sprinkle of green onions. Can taste the juicy meat in his mouth, too, and having to experience that for a week…

All right.

It’s not Suna being sold off—it’s Osamu.

“He’s got that face on when he’s thinking of food again,” Suna remarks.

“I know right,” says Atsumu; Osamu can almost hear the smirk in his voice. Instead of snarking back, though, Osamu pays them no heed, too preoccupied with the prize. He’s in. He can definitely say that he’s in. He’s free from whatever’s holding him back with joining in on their plan, or perhaps he’s still debating about that. Either way, the offer of katsudon for a week is too good—too great—to decline.

“Do you even have the money for that?” He hears Suna ask. “Katsudon’s expensive, y’know.”

Atsumu leans back on his chair and scoffs. “Hah, no way! It’s totally within my budget.”

“Lies,” Osamu interjects. “I’ll just find out you’ve been borrowing money from Mom. But then again,” he leans back on his chair as well, “it’s katsudon, so… sure… I guess.”

That reduces both his brother and Suna into silence. They goggle at Osamu like he’s grown two heads, and he stares back, impassive. That was not the reaction he was aiming for. Suna—it’s usual for him to blank-face at everything, but not ‘Tsumu. He’s expecting his brother to at least holler or yell out a victory cry—

Then Atsumu rises from his seat and whoops, and  _there_ it is. The chair topples over when he stood up, and it falls to the carpet with a faint thud.  Atsumu brandishes a determined finger to Osamu’s direction. “Because you agreed, I’ll definitely forgive you for your rude statement! Don’t you dare back out now, ya hear me?”

Across the feed, a pixelated grin etches itself on Suna’s features. Even with the choppy connection, Osamu can make out quite well that the Suna is pleased. “You just really have to be begged and bribed with, ‘no?”

Osamu shrugs, not confirming the statement, but not denying it either. While he doesn’t usually engage in things like these, having his scheduled filled up with mostly volleyball and trying not to fail school, opportunities like these are almost scarce. Osamu will forever brand himself a super idiot if he doesn’t take the chance. So in the end, despite his reluctance, he’ll go along with their schemes at the expense of not troubling Kita-san more than he usually does—but it’ll be katsudon for him.

It’s a good deal.

He’s a glutton, all right, but it’s a good deal.

Atsumu pumps his fists before whipping towards the laptop. “All right! By the way, Suna, you  owe me 500 yen.”

“Shit.”

“You placed bets on me?” Osamu exclaims in disbelief.

“You bet we did,” Suna deadpans. Osamu turns to Atsumu, who shrugs, and he throws his hands up in exasperation.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Atsumu cuts in. “Now that ‘Samu’s agreed to my ingenious plan, shall we continue our discussion, Suna-kun? Heh-heh.”

“Bring it.”

Their bickering starts to fill up Osamu’s ears once more, but at the same time, their voices fly over his head. Osamu places his cheek on his palm, sighing.

_He’s got that face on when he’s thinking of food again._  The thought pops up in Osamu’s mind, sudden and random, and Osamu almost double takes in his seat. The stirrings in his stomach return at full force. Osamu reaches down a hand to rub at his belly, a small frown making its way to his face. Suna’s statement is strange. Suna’s pretty quite strange in general, but this feeling—

This is stranger. He hadn’t experienced anything of the sort earlier, so what’s with this now?

What’s wrong with thinking about food anyway?

_Maybe it’s the Calbee chips that’s making my stomach do flips_ , he concludes. _Ah, it’s getting warm_. He keeps mum as Atsumu makes an offhand comment about Yuuko-sensei—it’s a different teacher this time—which baits Suna into another disagreement. A sigh escapes past his lips.

Distantly, Osamu wonders what his face looks like when he’s thinking of food.

* * *

 

To Osamu’s relief, they did eventually discuss about what they’re going to do. The plan is to take place on Monday next week, Atsumu had told the two, and it’s to happen within the span of five days. However, only one person will do the operation each day, and that is to occur following, or during practice. Intervals will be held in-between individual operations, as so not to raise anyone’s suspicions.

“Most especially Kita-san’s!” Atsumu had stressed, shooting them significant looks. “We definitely can’t have Aran-kun suspect us, too.” It makes sense, Osamu supposes, seeing as it definitely won’t escape their captain’s perceptive eyes if they take their turns all at once. Aran’s pretty close with Kita-san as well, and if somehow they get wind of the trio’s plans, Aran will definitely tell, and the captain will definitely _and_ mercilessly call them out on it. There’ll be trouble, and poof.

A week’s worth of katsudon will be reduced to nothing.  _Man, that’d be a waste._

“‘Samu will be the one going first,” declares Atsumu, leaning back on his chair. He crosses his arms behind his head in a self-satisfied manner.

“Why would I be the first one going?” asks Osamu, shooting daggers at his brother. “It’d be better if you do it, seeing as you’re all gung-ho about this plan. Or better yet, Suna should do it.”

“No way,” comes his easy reply.

Osamu groans, disbelieving. “Why?”

“Well, I’d get jealous if you guys started before me…” Atsumu trails off, hand on chin. “And I’d get jealous if you guys started after me… so.”

“I didn’t ask you.”

“Glad to know you’re self-aware, though,” Suna murmurs from the screen.

“And what even do you mean by that?” says Osamu, rubbing the sides of his head.

A box of strawberry Pocky now lays clutched in Atsumu’s hands—God forbid if he got it from Osamu’s stash—and Osamu watches, simply done, as his brother shoves multiple sticks into his mouth. His eyes, annoyingly similar to Osamu, are widely innocent as he slowly bites on the snacks, and the Osamu gets the vague feeling of his brother purposely doing that to further delay the question. Osamu purses his lips, fighting the urge of wanting to poke Atsumu‘s eyeballs out.

Osamu knows what exactly his brother means, but he wants Atsumu to reiterate what he just said. He knows Atsumu is aware of this, too.

“It means,” Atsumu slowly says, voice muffled as he chews on the snack. He hurriedly gulps it down upon the sight of Osamu’s expression. “It means I’ll be going second, jeez. I’ll get impatient if I’m put last, and yadda-yadda, I’ll get jealous and stuff. What I said earlier. Weren’t you listening, ‘Samu?!”

Osamu raises his hands in the air, relenting. “Jeez, fine. Let’s indulge you for a bit here. Say we’ll be going in that order. The whole plan’s going to take the whole week, right?” he says, casting a questioning look at his brother. Atsumu nods. “Originally, if not for those intervals, this whole scheme’s just going to take three days?” Another nod. “So in those three days, we’re going try and pry our goal out of Kita-san, right?”

From the screen, Suna lets out an uncertain chuckle. Atsumu simply smiles, looks away, and whistles. Osamu prepares himself for the worst.

“About that…” 

Both their faces are gravely solemn as the words come out of Suna’s mouth. Osamu pales. Atsumu points at his face... and laughs.

“Look at ‘Samu’s face!” He clutches his stomach, wheezing. “He’s freakin’—white as sheet—” The  rest of Atsumu’s sentence dissolves in hysterical laughter. Indignant, and maybe a little bit self-conscious, Osamu glowers at his brother. Despite that, though, he practically felt his face drain of its color (and also rise up from the embarrassment). It’s as if someone (see: Suna, and by association, Atsumu) poured tonnes of metaphorical buckets of water over his head, and he’s left to deal with the results. The aftershock of Suna’s revelations blare loud and apparent in his mind:

They’re going to do actual participations.

_On Kita-san._

Blackmail material.

_Of Kita-san._

“I thought we were just gonna ask him!” Osamu bursts out. “And I thought when you said blackmail pictures, I thought you meant you have stupid pictures of me or somethin’!”

“ _Ask him_? Are you serious?” Atsumu snorts. “That’s so tame! No fun!”

“Highly unlikely that he’ll tell us, too,” Suna adds. “By the way, you’re not exactly wrong about the last part.”

Osamu sputters.

“The whole team’s got pictures, I think. I have this one where Oomimi-san’s looking a bit high…” Suna trails, gaze drifting somewhere far off.  He spends a few seconds lost in thought, definitely recalling about that certain photo, before snapping his attention back to the brothers. But something changed in his eyes. Something definitely changed.

The usual nonchalance typical on Suna’s face is now replaced with steely resolve. Determination not unlike his brother lights up in his narrow eyes, and suddenly, it strikes Osamu reminiscent to those times he’d seen Suna with the same kind of look before. It’s different from the glint he possesses when he has something up his sleeve—this one even has greater intensity; the kind when he won’t allow a single spike to pass through his blocks.

And now…

Suna’s gaze is unyielding, laced with resolution as he utters his next words. “We have to get blackmail pictures of Kita-san.”

All Osamu can think of is:  _He’s really committed, isn’t he._

“It’s his only dying wish,” mourns Atsumu, who’s gone down from his fit and is now dabbing at his eyes. “Y’know, Suna, if you’d only put as much effort in volleyball during later games like in this one, we would’ve been champs by now.”

“Sorry to say I have normal interests, unlike you.”

“ _Hah_ , If taking creepy photos of our teammates counts as normal, anyway!”

“At least I’m careful enough not to get caught. I wonder if anyone’s seen you ogling at Kita-san’s ass while we’re doing warm-ups.”

“What did you say, you bag of trash—”

Osamu has to grab on Atsumu’s shirt before he can launch himself at the laptop, and, inadvertently, break it. 

“‘Tsumu.”

“What.”

Osamu socks Atsumu on the head. “Shut the fuck up.”

“The hell, man?! That hurts!”

Osamu leans back on his chair, crossing his arms. There’s definitely no way he’ll risk himself himself to be murdered in cold blood now. “You’re going first tomorrow.”

* * *

 

sunaringo, samu11, and settertsumu07

11:10 PM

**samu11:**  what does my face even look like when it’s thinking of food

**samu11:**  probably stupid (?)

**sunaringo:**  were you seriously bugged by that? lol

**samu11:**  i was just curious

**settertsumu07:**  he’s definitely bothered alright

**settertsumu07:**  but why are you dissing urself tho lmAO

**samu11:**  eh

**samu11:**  whatever tsumu

**samu11:**  you’re going first anyway

**settertsumu07:** yeah and fuck u for that <( ｀ ^´)>

**samu11:**  lol

**sunaringo:**  to answer your question

**samu11:**  ?

**sunaringo:**  it’s like you’re receiving the best head you’ve ever had in your whole life

**settertsumu07:**  oh

**samu11:** WHAT

Osamu feels heat creeping up his neck, and he plunges face first into his pillow.

11:14 PM

**settertsumu07:**  THIS JUST IN

**settertsumu07:**  SAMU’S FACE IS VERY RED RIGHT NOW

**settertsumu07:**  BRIGHT RED

**settertsumu07:**  TOMATO RED

**settertsumu07:**  I AM LIVING

**sunaringo:**  never knew you were secretly a prude, osamu

**samu11:**  I FUCKIGN CHOKED OKA Y

**sunaringo:**  suuureee you did

**sunaringo:**  on what? :)

**settertsumu07:**  AHAHAHAHAH NICE

**samu11:**  GO TO FUCKING SLEEP

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **edited: 03-06-18.** next chapter: first day of the operation, we’re going to have some atsumu!  
>    
>  if you enjoyed, a kudos or a comment is always appreciated! thank you so much for reading :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atsumu sort of pines and definitely suffers. Someone swoops in and tries to save the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~it’s been five months~~
> 
>  
> 
> also!! some warnings for swearing :")

Atsumu rolls at the ball in his hand. Stares at the blur of blue and yellow as it spins, until it halts at the contact of his palms. He lifts his eyes from the ball, assessing the current opposition across the net. It’s a 3-on-3 match today: Osamu’s taking up the front, while Suna’s perched not far away, positioned into a half-crouch. Backing them up at the rear is Kita, whose eyes are concentrated forward, keen gaze trained on Atsumu.

Ever so collected, ever so calculating, but piercing him all the same.

He knows the scrutiny is nothing more than guarded caution. Atsumu is aware that Kita’s just preparing himself for his serve, because the latter knows that it’s a fact of life: that Atsumu’s intense, unrelenting, and merciless. That he won’t ever hold back in volleyball, not even if it’s during practice, and not even if it’s for someone like Kita. All the attention on Atsumu is owing to those facts.

Kita’s just simply watching out.

Still, the knowledge of Kita concentrating on him—and _only_ at him—sends Atsumu the slightest thrills down his spine.

The notion’s crazy and illogical, all right, since there’s also Suna and Osamu. Rotations exist—it’s not like Atsumu will be the one serving always, since he also has Oomimi and Gin on his side. Not every time will he be serving, and not every second will the attention be directed on him. Still, for all the chances he currently has (which is to say, limited _)_ , it’s more the reason not to hold back.

The whistle blows, snapping him out of his reverie. _Keep the serves coming_ , Atsumu tells himself as he tosses the ball up and runs, _and he’ll pay attention to you_.

Suna and Osamu be damned.

A dangerous smile curves his mouth as he leaps. His palm connects with the ball, and—

It zooms past Kita, painting the line.

Gin’s cheers floods Atsumu’s ears among Osamu’s booing, and he receives thumps on the back from Oomimi for his feat. The image of Kita’s eyes, though—wide with surprise, tinged with what Atsumu knows the slightest of frustrations as his hands were poised in the air—

It makes the blood in Atsumu’s veins course a little faster.

_Satisfying. It’s satisfying. Even more chances now._

Atsumu sends a complacent smile over his shoulder. _And another point scored in my record._ “That’s 11 in my service ace count today now, ‘Samu.”

“Yeah, for two whole sets!” Osamu’s retort carries over from the other side of the net. “I’ll freaking beat you, just watch.”

“Say that when you’ve managed to bridge the gap~”

“Oh, go screw yourself, asshole—ah. Sorry, Kita-san.”

Atsumu laughs airily.

Monday afternoon arrives with a few bumps along the road, and practice proceeded as it normally does. By that, Atsumu means competing with Osamu on service aces (in which he scores another lead on his second serve), play a prank or a few on an unsuspecting underclassman (where he almost manages to trick Riseki into giving their team a point, until Kita fixes him a hard look across the net), volleyball (of course), and, as ‘Samu had blatantly put it when they switched courts, ‘hardcore thirsting after Kita-san’.

Which is… well, he’s not really wrong about that. He’ll admit, Atsumu’s found himself sneaking peeks at Kita’s… backside… a few often times, but.

But that’s not the point.

Atsumu can’t definitely say that aloud, _no way_ , not after he’s cuffed Osamu for his comment. Instead, he shakes his head, and strides to the end of the court in four steps.

It’s supposed to be only volleyball today. Leave the after-practice reserved for trivial, inconsequential matters, yet still, Atsumu finds his gaze lingering after Kita. He always does. He reckons it’s the aura around him that Atsumu finds his attention getting drawn to, the collected air that simply commands anyone’s notice. Maybe it’s the sleek lines of his figure, or the fact that Kita looks incredibly, unbelievably, _frustratingly_ nice in every angle he’s in.

(Who is he kidding though—of course it’s the latter.)

Atsumu catches himself thinking of cool, golden eyes—unassuming, unflappable—and the whistle blows. He tosses, runs, jumps, and hits.

And the ball ricochets from Kita’s arms instead. It flies in an arc towards Osamu, who sets it straight towards Suna—

Oomimi jumps to block it, but it slams past Atsumu and it marks the floor.

“Tsk.”

Atsumu looks up from the ground as the other group hollers and raise their hands together in a high-five. As much as Suna and Osamu’s whoops seem to mock him, he finds his attention straying at the minuscule, upward tug of Kita’s mouth. Atsumu blinks, surprised. He rubs at his eyes just as Kita’s group settles back, but he finds no trace of the _something_ he glimpsed on Kita’s face when he removes his hand.

_Wha…?_

When Atsumu walks back to his position, it’s Osamu’s serve. Kita’s rotated to the front now, face set back into that pokerface he’s frustratingly well-known for. Atsumu can go on with his day thinking that the tilt of Kita’s mouth was nothing but his imagination, if not for the fact that across the net, Kita’s eyes, normally stoic, glimmered with something.

_From what?_

_Because of what?_

_What makes you tick, Kita-san?_

Something prickles in his mind. Maybe it really was just a flash of imagination, Atsumu tries to convince himself. But he knows, in the bright afternoon sun and the day’s sweltering heat, among the squeaks and thumps of volleyballs, Atsumu’s pretty damn sure Kita just smiled.

 

* * *

 

There’s this plague at the back of Atsumu’s mind during the whole duration of practice. It’s like a persistent nag that bolsters and heightens in Kita’s presence, nothing sort of the hyperawareness he has that comes with having a crush on Kita. It’s nothing like the flutters in his chest, nor the thrills down his spine, nor even the butterflies in his stomach, but rather, it’s a ceaseless tick in his mind. The sense that he has to— _needs_ to do something.

But what? Every possible conclusion Atsumu’s arrived at doesn’t strike the right chord. Nothing ever gets close to piece the missing puzzle.

Atsumu runs a hand through his hair, heaving a large exhale. He’s taken a break from spiking drills with Riseki, which ended rather crappy by his own standards, having so much misses and mistiming. He can’t even blame the others for that, so he’s dismissed and gave a curt apology to the first year instead, settling himself against one of the poles in the gym to cool down. If there’s a culprit for his off-game today, the constant niggle of bothersome thoughts will surely top the list. (The occasional, pesky onlookers come in second.)

_Speaking of bothersome thoughts._

His gaze travels to the far side of the room, to where Kita’s working with his own drills with Suna. There’s an unpleasant churn to his stomach at the sight of the two, an ugly rearing in his gut that Atsumu flat-out _refuses_ to identify as jealousy. Suna slams the ball back down, far from Kita’s supposed reach, but Kita’s already there, moving with such speed and fluidity that Atsumu’s heart flip-flops in his chest.

_Suna be damned, Kita looked so cool just now._

And… there it is again. That spike of _you have to do something, ‘Tsumu!_ springing suddenly in forefront of his mind. A scowl immediately forms on Atsumu’s lips. He recalls a time when he gave Osamu a jack-in-the-box for his tenth birthday, remembers the clown popping right up into Osamu’s face that prompted the latter to chuck the box at Atsumu’s head. Atsumu thinks the very thought’s exactly like that: an unpleasant surprise, lid opening sporadically, the clown leaping at unexpected moments to scream the words at him.

Kita’s the sole reason for that, it’s clear. Every glance at him prompts the same nagging feeling, which _also_ prompts the unnecessary reminder. And no matter how hard Atsumu tries to shove the clown back into its case, it continues to rise up to the surface, persistent.

_Do something, ‘Tsumu!_

Atsumu’s eye twitches.

_Do something, ‘Tsumu!_

How many times did this happen now? Twenty? Thirty times?

_Do something, Tsumu! You have to do something, ‘Tsumu!_

_Do something—_

Atsumu tugs at his hair with a frustrated shout. “Argh, damn it! Damn you!”

Someone yelps to his right. Atsumu spins around in panic, but he only finds Riseki, whose eyes are wide in apprehension. The first year flinches when he catches sight of Atsumu’s face, though, frantic apologies spilling from his lips—“I-I’m so sorry for my crappy performance earlier, senpai!”—before he scampers away.

Bewildered, Atsumu’s eyes trail after his retreating figure. It takes a few moments for Riseki’s words to sink in, and when it does, Atsumu jolts.

_Crap! He probably thought I was pissed because of him!_

“Wait, I didn’t mean—!”

Too late. Riseki’s too far to reach now. Atsumu rubs at his neck, frown deepening, and he slumps against the pole with an exasperated groan. Somewhere in his mind he asks why he even cares, since no doubt Riseki’s going to tell the others. They’ll think Atsumu’s being crazy again, even if he actually isn’t. Even at the same time he is, because—

_You have to do something, ‘Tsumu!_

Atsumu sinks to the floor, groaning even more, until he plops face-first onto the ground. The voice appears to taunt him as much as it does with Osamu’s whoops during the 3-on-3, only except it’s way too excessive, way, _way_ worse, and it’s driving Atsumu up the damn wall. He bangs his forehead against the wooden surface. Where the hell is Osamu, anyway? Atsumu needs someone to vent to, damn it.

“Oi, Atsumu, stop hittin’ your head and help us with spiking practice!” _Do something, ‘Tsumu!_

“Yes, Aran-kun.” _You have to do something, ‘Tsumu!_ “M’coming.”

Atsumu huffs as he rises to his feet. He just has to ignore the annoying voice for the remainder of the day—just single all of his focus into volleyball and nothing else; if he does, maybe then he’ll at least pick up his game. He’ll shove the jack back into the box and bury the unnecessary musings, and if he can, he’ll also avoid looking at the source of the problem (cough, Kita, cough). But—

_Do something, ‘Tsumu!_

But _that._

It’s clawing at his mind, dammit.

 

* * *

 

The answer making way for crashing realization happens a few minutes into their break.

It’s late in the afternoon now, and the setting sun’s bathing the threshold in a golden glow. Atsumu’s sitting by the steps of the gym entrance, water bottle in his hands, legs propped up against the wooden doorframe. He thinks he should be responding to the shouts of greetings thrown his way, but today’s performance left him in bad spirits, so he brushes them all aside with an irritable huff. He’s received a few jeers from his classmates for that—for their efforts, and in retaliation, they receive a crude gesture from him.

Kita’s inside the gym as he converses with Oomimi. Atsumu’s found out it’s a habit of Kita’s to maintain eye contact while he’s talking to someone; this one isn’t any different from all the others. Only just that Kita, head tilted from looking up to meet Oomimi’s eyes, is adorable, and well, Atsumu wonders if that’s how he looks like when he stares at him, too. Atsumu senses a smile crawling on his face at the notion, feels the weight on his shoulders from today’s practice already becoming lighter.

It’s adorable. Heck, Kita’s really adorable. He sounds like a teenage girl gushing about her crush, but whatever.

_Do something, ‘Tsumu!_

Atsumu drags a hand to his face. “Ah, fuck off, clown.”

“The heck? Rude.”

Atsumu drops his hand. His head shoots up to a puzzled (and rather offended) expression, registering similar features—Osamu—and he sputters. “What’re you doin’ here?!”

Osamu shrugs, scratching his head. “Riseki’s muttering about you getting all pissy and weird—” damn, so Atsumu _was_ right about him telling the others, “—so I decided to check on you if you were, in fact, getting all pissy and weird. Which you are. I heard your shouts even from the other side earlier. What’s up?”

_A streak of something colorful, like clowns inside of jack-in-the-boxes._ The image of Kita, in addition with the pesky yammering inside Atsumu’s head that became the reason for his atrocious performance, flash briefly in his mind. Instantly, the lightness in his chest evaporates. Atsumu feels his face sour, and he turns his nose in the air.

“Nothing,” he sniffs. “It’s none of your business.”

“Well, it’s really not, but if you’re that distracted that you give us crappy set-ups—”

“It’s not crappy! Fuck you!”

“Even _Kita-san_ noticed, but you were like ‘oh no, I can do this, I’m big and strong’ and all that.” Osamu rolls his eyes, before shooting Atsumu a pointed look. “Can’t improve my spikes if I kept missin’ the ball, can I?” 

Atsumu bristles at the accusation in his voice. “So why don’t _you_ do it then, if you think you’re too great for my setting?”

“I would if I could— _hey_.” Osamu hops slightly away from Atsumu as the latter tries to kick him. “Y’know, a little competitions’s great and all that, but you obviously need to get your shit together first. Don’t even try to deny it.”

“I don’t need to get my shit together,” Atsumu retorts. “Shut up.”

“Right.”

Truth to be told, Osamu’s _absolutely_ right, but Atsumu doesn’t really need to be reminded that he sucked ass during training, thank you very much. Atsumu would’ve thrown his bottle at Osamu as payback, but it’ll warrant another session of bickering that might get physical, which he isn’t in the mood for. So instead of doing so, he retracts his leg and settles back onto the ground with a sneer, waiting until Osamu makes his leave.

To his disappointment and annoyance, Osamu seats himself by the wall. Still at a distance, though, probably should Atsumu decide to kick him again. Osamu crosses his arms, eyeing Atsumu with a level stare, before flickering a cursory look towards the gym. His eyes trail back shortly after—still impassive, only now the difference is that his eyebrows are raised in expectation.

_What…?_

Perplexed, and suspicions piqued, Atsumu follows his line of sight.

His eyes fall on Kita. Atsumu’s face scrunches up in askance. “What about Kita-san?”

Osamu waggles his brows. 

Atsumu makes a face. “Haaah?”

“‘Haaah?’ Whaddya mean, _haaah_? Surely you’ve some plans in mind?”

“Ehh? Plans for what?” 

It’s Osamu’s turn to look confused. Exasperation starts to line his features. “Don’t tell me you forgot? Seriously?”

“Forgot what? Plans for _what_?” Atsumu snaps. “Spit it out, dumbass.”

“Oh my god,” Osamu mutters. As Atsumu takes a huge gulp from his bottle, forehead creased in confusion, Osamu cradles his head in his hand for a moment, before turning back up and retorting, “Plans for that stupid operation involving Kita-san, _dumbass_!”

Atsumu spits out his drink.

_Do something, ‘Tsumu!_

The words blare in his ears. It buzzes and reverberates in his skull, hanging heavily like some kind of long overdue reminder. It expands until nothing but the very thought fills his head to the brim, and he’s left confounded, mouth gaping wide open. The clown in the box laughs at him, somewhere.

“What?” says Atsumu. “Shit, what? I forgot. I _forgot_.”

Osamu looks at him in disbelief. “I can’t believe _you_ forgot.”

“Well I can’t believe I did, either, stupid!”

Osamu sticks his tongue out, then pulls a face at the small puddle of water (and spit, _ugh_ ) that formed on the floor. Atsumu, having forgotten his annoyance with his brother, ignores the reprimand in his expression. He has more important things in mind to care much about proper decorum, anyway, because shit. He forgot. He can’t believe he actually _forgot_.

Atsumu turns to Osamu, and it’s almost painful when he asks, “Operation: Find out Kita-san’s crush?”

“The very.” Osamu nods, then wrinkles his nose. “ _Ugh._ It’s really corny, if you ask me.”

“ _Shiiiit_. Shitshitshit.”

“Indeed.”

“Aw, shit, is this why I’ve been so shitty today?”

“Stop cussing, what the hell. You’re so vulgar.”

Atsumu disregards his chide. “Oh my _shit_.”

Thankfully, aside from a disapproving shake of the head—even though talk about the pot calling the kettle black!—Osamu’s merciful enough to leave him be in his moment of distress. If Atsumu’s going to be honest, freaking out is all he’s capable of doing at the moment. Volleyball? He takes great pride in the fact that he’s skilled enough to pick their team up when they get into tricky situations, because Atsumu’s nothing if not tricky; it’ll take more than a trivial drawback to throw him off in volleyball.

And, but, the thing is…

The thing is, he’s forgotten the plans he’s made with Suna and Osamu. The drawback is, volleyball’s the _only_ thing that occupied his mind—he had no recollections of Kita-san’s supposed crush from that particular day whatsoever, and no memories of the plan they at all. Zilch. Nada.

His sheepishness must have shown on his face—amidst the shock and mortification, anyway—because Osamu rolls his eyes. “Yes, ‘Tsumu, keep on smiling like that ‘cause you’ve really done it this time. S’totally not my fault if you spent the weekend doing volleyball and forgot, which doesn’t really make sense, ‘cause volleyball _is_ Kita-san, and Kita-san’s your _crush_ , and crush _means_ your stupid ploy. Which, really, just makes even more sense that you’re just really stupid to forget and—” Osamu peers at him. “Wow, you really don’t know what to do, huh.”

Should Atsumu act cool? Hot? Flirty? Nothing will ever get through Kita, because that guy is thick as molasses and dense as the frigging bedrock in Minecraft, so should he just act normally? Atsumu says these out loud.

Before Osamu can open his mouth, though, a patter of footsteps interrupt their exchange, and they catch sight of Suna and Gin ambling towards their direction. Their arms are slung around one another, leaning and swaying against each other as they belt out an obscure folk song.

Actually, it’s mostly Gin who’s doing the shouting. Suna’s just grinning lazily at them.

It’s not the singing that catches Atsumu’s attention, though.

Atsumu chances a careful glimpse at Osamu: his brother’s pokerface is even stiffer, if that’s even possible for the likes of Osamu, and there’s a rigid knot in his shoulders. It doesn’t take long for understanding to dawn on Atsumu.

_Someone’s jealous of someone_. He tells Osamu under his breath, snickering when the latter punches him on the arm. Only when Suna drapes his arms over Osamu does the tautness on his face loosen, as if all the tension in his body dissipated when Suna touched him.

And ‘Samu… he looks definitely pleased. Contented. See, it’s hard to discern with his facial constipation and outward emotional capacity of a rock, but it’s there, with the way his shoulders relax against Suna, the way his hand just casually grasps at the latter’s jacket.

Making the point of catching his brother’s eyes, Atsumu smiles sunnily at Osamu. _Someone’s enjoying all the touching_.

_Don’t I know it_ , Osamu replies, smug.

The bastard.

“So, what’re we talking about here?” Gin asks, sage-faced. His hands clasp together as he settles himself beside Atsumu. “Please do enlighten us with your troubles, young’n.”

“Atsumu’s in a love crisis,” says Suna. He pauses, and shoots Atsumu a look. “Am I right?”

“No.” Atsumu crosses his arms defiantly. When Suna raises a thin brow, Atsumu scowls, conceding. “…Yes.”

“And he doesn’t know what to do,” Osamu pipes up.

“Shut it, ‘Samu, I’m thinking!”

“Oh, for real?” Suna sounds surprised. “That’s new.”

“Right?” Osamu drawls. “Finally using his brain for once.”

An offended squawk escapes past Atsumu’s lips. “That’s rich, comin’ from _you_. Who’s in Class 1 again?”

“ _Hey_ ,” says Suna.

“At least I’ve common sense not to forget about a thing I initiated in the first place,” says Osamu.

“So what’s Atsumu initiated, exactly?” asks Gin, interrupting the squabble that’s about to brew with a tilt of his head.

Suna and Osamu gladly take the liberty to fill him in. Atsumu has no qualms about letting them do so if it leaves him to ruminate about what he’s going to do to Kita, but only until they start tacking the story with exaggerations (“Woe is me, I’m dying at the thought of Kita-san havin’ a crush on someone that isn’t this hot and smexy setter body!”) and false information (“Atsumu cried. Like, lots.”) does Atsumu try to swat them off. Throughout the whole exchange, Gin’s eyes keep darting back and forth between the two. By the time they finish, Atsumu feels like crawling into a hole in embarrassment.

Even more so at the click of understanding on Gin’s face.

“I see. I understand now.” Gin’s expression turns even more sage, a touch sympathetic, as he inclines his head towards Atsumu. “You need some help, man.”

“Well, no shit, Sherlock,” Atsumu growls, pink in the face. “Why’d ya think I’m freakin’ out?”

“Because you cried,” Suna reminds him.

“I did not!”

“Nobody’s gonna judge if you cried, man,” Gin soothes, thumping Atsumu in the back. “Real men cry!” And Atsumu’s about to protest that no, he didn’t _cry_ goddammit, but something’s lit a fire in Gin’s eyes, and he stops himself short from whatever’s making him want to whack him. His brows furrow in confusion as Gin gestures for the three of them to huddle.

“Worry not, gentlemen,” Gin says with a grand sweep of his arms. “I have a plan.”

 

* * *

 

“Hey, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu had called out, a while after their call with Suna ended. He was fiddling with the plastic of the now-empty Calbee chips between his fingers.

“What is it, ‘Samu.”

“I’ve a question.”

The two had just finished discussing with Suna about their plans for the operation next week. Atsumu, deciding that he didn’t feel like sleeping yet, had whipped out his PSP from his drawer with the declaration of playing FIFA, and so play he did. At some point in the middle, Osamu had climbed down from his bunk to push Atsumu off his bed, which warranted a protest from the latter as he was plunked ungraciously to the floor (“The hell, lie down in your own bed, asshole!”). There was a bit of squabble after that (“Just play the game on the damn floor.” “Are you kidding me?!”), but ultimately they reached some sort of compromise—Atsumu’s still robbed of his bunk, but at least his feet’s up on it now.

As for Osamu, he was shamelessly sprawling on the sheets— _Atsumu’s_ sheets—when he asked the question: “How do we know if we found out who Kita-san’s crush is?”

Atsumu blinked at the screen, still engrossed with the game. He was rapidly clicking on the buttons now. “Huh?”

“How do we know if we succeeded with our stupid mission?” Osamu reiterated. There was the mask of impatience and annoyance coloring his tone, which Atsumu pointedly ignored in favor for his game. “Do we just ask him straight up, and if he rejects the question, you lose?”

_A legitimate question_ , was what popped into Atsumu’s mind, brows furrowed at his console. His teeth gnawed his bottom lip. “Hm.”

How _would_ they find out Kita’s crush, really? He figured they’d have to do _something_ , at least, if he’s going to want an answer to those questions.

_What makes you tick, Kita-san?_

There’s a crinkle of plastic from where Osamu’s slowly scrunching up the package of chips. The sound grated on Atsumu’s ear and made him want to rub at it, but he disregarded the impulse. It set him off, the sound—but what sets _Kita-san_ off? What makes… what makes—

Atsumu’s head shoots upright. He craned his head towards his brother from where he’s lying on the floor, game paused.

“Osamu,” said Atsumu, eyes wide and bright, a knowing smile. Osamu raised a brow; for sure the thought of Atsumu swinging into his one of his modes (or more specifically, ‘deranged mode’, as Osamu had put ever so tactfully, so _kindly_ ) must’ve crossed Osamu’s mind—but Atsumu couldn’t get himself to give a damn.

Because this had been one of his best ideas yet.

Atsumu’s smile grew into a beam.

“’Samu, we’re going to make Kita-san blush.” 

Osamu’s normally-droopy eyes widened in shock, but that was all Atsumu caught sight of before he turned back to his game, pleased.

 

* * *

 

“Okay. Okay. I’m trusting you with my life, man. Ya sure it’ll work?”

“Of course! You’ll have him hook, line, and sinker before you know it. He loves those.”

“How can you even say?”

“I have my sources.”

“…Are you sure about this? Like, are you _friggin’_ sure.”

“Yeah, man. Romance is life!”

“Ah… D’ya think that—” There’s a pause, followed by Atsumu’s pronounced groan. “Yeah. Yeah, I—you’re right, I… I should just man up. I mean, fuck life, right?”

“No, no, _romance_ is life.”

“Same thing. Screw everything, man.”

“...Even Kita-san?”

“Wha—oh my god, no! _No_! Gin, what the heck!”

Heat rises to Atsumu’s cheeks as Osamu’s shoulders shake in laughter. Beside him, Suna turns to look away, lips pursed to stifle a snort, and there’s grin fixed on Gin’s expression as he shoves Atsumu towards Kita’s general direction.

“Anyway, we’re counting on you, ‘Tsumu!” Gin cheers, thumping him on the back before he retreats back to the others. “Make sure your voice’s loud, ‘kay? Give us a performance worth a redeeming!”

From behind him, Osamu claps loudly and whoops. Suna has his phone procured from his jacket, lips tilted in a smirk, and Gin’s arms are set akimbo as he beams widely at Atsumu. They’re just standing there, doing nothing but watch—or record, in Suna’s case—with amusement as they send Atsumu off for his death sentence.

If Atsumu isn’t embarrassed enough as he already is, Osamu has to shout, “Get his ass, ‘Tsumu!” for him to really be.

Gin howls with laughter. Suna’s phone clicks as Atsumu flips them all off.

 

* * *

 

With cool and easy confidence.

That’s how Atsumu’s going to approach the matter at hand. At least, that’s how he should be, anyway.

Under favorable conditions where Atsumu’s feeling a bit more... _normal_ , he’ll charge straight into the fray and improvise whatever he’s mucked up on the fly. It can be he’s that feeling more like his usual self today, from what his befuddled brain can register, with the steps he’s taking towards Kita despite the rapid pounding of his heart. Or it can be that his soul has flown out of his body, and he’s now merely operating on autopilot.

Kita’s only mere feet away from him. He has his jacket draped over his shoulders now, arms crossed; he’s still talking to Oomimi, but that’s alright, the latter can be easily drawn away with a few simple fibs.

_The time is now_ , Atsumu chants to himself. _Whenever, wherever, the present is always where the greatest chance lies._

He’s Miya Atsumu, and he’s supposed to be cool. Not—not this pathetic _scrub_ whose sweating palms are clenched into fists, trying to muster up whatever’s left of his courage.

_Damn it—okay. Okay. Calm down, Atsumu. Remember, fuck life._

“Kita-san.” Atsumu greets, inclining his head once he’s approached him. He does the same for Oomimi. “Oomimi-san.”

“Atsumu,” they chorus, nodding back.

_The time is now_. Back straightened like a rod, hands clasped at the front, a polite nod. Atsumu’s courteous smile, however, offers nothing of the sort as he turns towards Oomimi. _Draw him away._ _This is your chance._

“Suna needs to talk to you, Oomimi-san,” Atsumu says, measured. “Something about blocking tips, or somethin’.”

Kita and Oomimi exchange looks, then back at Atsumu.

“It’s urgent.”

They look at each other once more. This time Atsumu doesn’t miss the blatant display of side-eyes and quizzing glances that go on for a short while. He doesn’t lose face, though, not even with the churning in his gut. There’s a point where Oomimi nodded reassuringly after a particularly concerned expression on Kita’s face; a moment where they had looked at each other in a way that Atsumu has to divert his eyes to evade whatever ugly thing is stirring up his insides—

And there he sees his friends standing by the sidelines, watching.

Suna’s phone is out.

Atsumu’s eyes widen with an idea. “Not to interrupt the moment—” he blurts loudly, hurriedly—Kita and Oomimi swiftly break off the contact, “—but Suna’s recordin’ you two and I _highly_ suggest that Oomimi-san go. Right now.”

Never mind the fact that it’s Atsumu himself that Suna’s recording, and never mind the fact that Atsumu seems desperate to get Kita alone, but he takes whatever opportunity he can get Oomimi—and Suna—off his back.

Kita and Oomimi exchange another look.

“Ren.” Kita’s brows are creased in concern— _will you be alright?_

The corners of Oomimi’s lip quirk up in a tiny smile. “I’ll be fine, Shinsuke.”

Kita casts him another careful gaze before nodding, satisfied. With that, Oomimi sets off. Atsumu stares at his retreating figure in shock.

‘Shinsuke,’ he had called Kita.

Shinsuke.

_Shinsuke_.

Atsumu tries his best to keep himself from shouting.

“So, uh,” he starts, blinking, disoriented in his restraint. “You and Oomimi-san—”

“Are not married.” Kita gives him a pointed look, crossing his arms. “I’ve told you time and again that he and I aren’t involved, yet you keep pushing the matter.”

“I’m—I’m not! You two drink tea together—”

“Because we enjoy it, Atsumu,” Kita deadpans.

“Well. Still.”

Atsumu’s feeble protest dissolves into a gape and a brief pause. A painful one, at that—one which gradually washes over him and Kita, encasing them in an awkward bubble until it pops, and the realization strikes Atsumu that _crap, he might have already screwed this one up, didn’t he._

Unsure of how to proceed, Atsumu shifts between his feet. Kita stares at him.

_Heck. Heck, it’s getting heckin’ awkward. Do something, ‘Tsumu!_

“Did Osamu say something—”

“Can you turn around—?”

Kita startles. “What?” 

“What?” Atsumu squeaks.

“Can I… turn around?” Kita repeats.

“No!” Atsumu exclaims, cheeks aflame. “I mean, yes, but—” He diverts his stare to the ground, mumbling under his breath.

The confusion in Kita’s voice is clear. “Pardon?”

“I said,” Atsumu runs a hand through his hair.  _This is stressing me out._ “Yes. Yeah. Turn around.”

“Atsumu, you’re not making any sense.”

“Just turn around, Kita-san!” he whines, snapping up to Kita. “ _Please_.”

Kita sends him a reluctant stare. Atsumu’s heart is pounding as he waits—he has never been this nervous, not since the first time he’s accidentally hit Kita with a volleyball to the back of his head—originally for Osamu—way back in his first year. He had received a glacial, powerfully disapproving stare-down from Kita that time, so much that Atsumu’s heart was hammering like it is right now as he was sent to his knees, pleading for forgiveness.

Atsumu thinks the current situation similar to that, only except now it’s a wholly different can of worms. An entirely different matter, because even as the butterflies in his stomach keep squirming and even as his heart keeps pounding, it’s also getting warm, and what he’s about to do...

_It’s now or never. Sorry, Kita-san._

“Atsumu, what are you doing.”

“I’m turning you around,” Atsumu replies, hands firmly clasped on Kita’s shoulders. “Please cooperate with me.”

“What—?”

Kita’s words die down. Atsumu’s hugging him.

From afar, he can hear Gin and Osamu’s hollers, can hear Suna’s cackles, Akagi’s shouts of confusion, the ringing in his ears. He’s hyperaware of his own chest touching Kita’s back, hyperaware of Kita’s warmth—even more so that Kita doesn’t have his jacket draped over his shoulders as usual—the rapid hammering of his heart.

Atsumu buries his head into Kita’s shoulder and lets out a long exhale.

“Shit,” he says. _Shit, indeed,_ Atsumu thinks. _I’m positive that my face is on fire, and I’m back-hugging Kita-san, and Kita-san’s hands is on my arm, and Suna’s probably recording us, and my mouth’s just centimeters away from Kita-san’s neck…_

“Atsumu...”

“Ten seconds.” Atsumu tightens his hold on Kita. Fingers dig into his arm. He doesn’t know whether to spring away or hold him even tighter, but he knows. _It’s now or never_ , Atsumu tells himself.

_Ten._ Kita's voice is soft when he asks, “Did Osamu tell you to do this?”

_Nine._ “No,” Atsumu replies, head still on Kita’s shoulder.  _Gin did._ “S’just me.”

_Eight._ “Ah.” He wonders how Kita’ll react if he brings his face closer.

_Seven._ “Kita-san.” _I’m going to kill Gin._

_Six._ “Yes?”

_Five._ “Are you a... a broom.” _Shit,_ _I’m going to KILL Gin._

_Four._ “Um. What?”

_Three._ “Please just answer why.”

_Two._ “...Why?”

 

_One._

Atsumu opens his mouth. He then releases his arms from Kita, and dashes for the gym doors.

 

* * *

 

** sunaringo, samu11, and settertsumu07 **

5:43 PM

 

**sunaringo:** I’M GOING TO KILL GIN. I REALLY AM

**samu11:** gin’s inside here w us and he’s laughing at u. the others r just plain shocked

**sunaringo:** SCREW GIN I HOPE HE TRIPS ON HIS SHOELACES WHEN HE SERVES

**samu11:** hey :( - Gin

**samu11:** GIVE ME BACK MY PHONE ASSHOLE – suna

**sunaringo:** NO

**sunaringo:** i’m going to go thru ur blackmail albums  & send them to everyone nobody can stop me

**samu11:** STOP

**sunaringo:** WOW DO I SEE AN ALBUM... FULL OF A CERTAIN SOMEONE’S PICTURES? :)

**samu11:** YOUR PHONE IS HERE TOO REMEMBER THAT :))) – suna

**sunaringo:** oh

**samu11:** look do u want 2 know how kita san reacted or not

**samu11:** did you do the thing I told you to do – Gin

**sunaringo:** jeez calm down guys one at a time please i’m not a celebrity

**samu11:** literally only two people asked u

**sunaringo:** shut it

**sunaringo:**  ...i’m in the clubroom

**samu11:** kay we’re going there

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing the last scene is painfully awkward for me as it has been for atsumu. but school has finished and thus, i also finally finished writing this chap. i hope you enjoyed this 5.6k chapter of atsumu suffering! thank you for reading! lemme know what you guys think! ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡


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